pinch me, I'm dreaming
by the faerie
Summary: In which Sakura never gets enough sleep and Sasuke's timing is almost always inopportune. "It's not too late. It's only eight o'clock." —ssmonth


**title:** pinch me, I'm dreaming  
**summary:** In which Sakura never gets enough sleep and Sasuke's timing is almost always inopportune. "It's not too late. It's only eight o'clock." —ssmonth  
**disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto.  
**prompt:** late  
**rating:** T  
**author's note:** HEADCANON. I actually came up with this in a dream! I'd really, _really_ appreciate it, and they make me want to write more, whether it be "this is great" or a full constructive criticism on the piece, it'd really help me out as more than a Naruto fan, but as a writer! Peace.

* * *

Sakura spends majority of her time working, not that that's necessarily a bad thing. She loves working, it passes the time, and she loves what she does, which passes life. She spends more time at the hospital than she does in her apartment, more time at the hospital than she does at the training fields, more time at the hospital than she does on missions, more time at the hospital than she does with friends—to say the least, she spends most of her time at the hospital, again, not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

That being said, Sakura cannot spend _all_ of her time at the hospital. For one, Tsunade is obligated under the law to _force_ Sakura to take at _least_ a week off during the year, not including two holidays. Sakura begrudgingly follows through on her unpaid days off; it's much easier to have a few days of rest than a grudge match with her shishou; they both know she should be at the hospital, but it's not really her choice.

And lastly, though there are beds stationed across the hospital for quick-naps in-between surgeries and a few minutes of shut-eye after clinic-hours, as opposed to feathers filling the casings, or even springs—Sakura is fairly certain the cushioned part of these mattresses are, in fact, rocks—she _must_ sleep.

It is medically impossible—and she would know, she's a doctor—to play hospital on less than 32-hours of sleep, and despite the naps Sakura takes in-between on these beds of rock, Sakura does need her eight-hours at least once, perhaps _twice_ a week. Perhaps these nights are lonely, with an empty apartment save for a couch, a television, and a tiny refrigerator in a naked kitchen, and perhaps these nights are not even nights, but daytime, but Sakura has an obligation to both the hospital and her patients to be slightly in tact when she is examining them.

It is during these once-a-week nights that Sakura is able to lie comfortably on her too-expensive mattress and rejuvenate for the next week to come, fill herself up with sleep so the patients get the attention they deserve. She cuddles under her light pink blankets, rests her head on her memory-foam pillows, and falls into a deep sleep until her alarm screams, waking her up from her much-deserved slumber.

She sighed, inhaling the sweet scent of detergent that littered her blankets, untouched by the sweat of her hard-work. She knew that her mother would sometimes sneak in and do her laundry, or stock her fridge, even though Sakura was an adult who could well-enough clean her clothes and do her shopping; her mother simply loved helping her daughter, and knew how hard she worked. Sakura didn't mind.

Her sheets were cool, left untouched, tickling her freshly-cleaned body. Her pillows were chilled against her cheeks, her bubblegum hair splayed around her like a halo. Her green eyes were nearly dead with exhaustion, dull like a used pencil, her eyelids slowly falling despite herself. She wrapped the blanket closely around her, gathering her body heat under the folds and resting the cushion underneath her chin.

Before she even realized, her breaths evened out with sleep, dreams overtaking her restless mind. She barely shifted in her sleep, lump like a rock beneath her covers, basking in the clearing of her exhaustion.

The room around her was silent, the sun slowly lowering with every minute passing. Night came over like a sheet as if the earth were a bed, stars twinkling above. The moon cast a shadow into her room, across her floorboards, caressing her face like warm hands. The night was clear, the summer heat sneaking past the cracks in her windows, filling the room with humid air, but she didn't notice—no, she didn't notice anything at all. She was far too preoccupied with the dreams running like little children in her mind, with the soft lull of exhaustion pulling her deeper and deeper into slumber—

A padded foot hit the floors of her apartment softly, certainly not loud enough for the untrained ear to pick up on. She cracked open one eye, hoping that maybe it was a simple hallucination of her exhaustion rather than a person trying to break into her room. She shifted slowly, tracing the under of her pillow for the feeling of cool metal. Once she had a hold of her kunai, she flew back from her bed into the fighting position, weapon blocking her vulnerable body.

"Who's there?" she yelled. The room looked empty, other than her clothes littering the floor, and a little dresser against the wall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move slightly near her closet. She groaned. "Hello? I know you're in here! Have some consideration! Some of us need some sleep!"

She heard an exhale of air that could've easily been a quiet laugh coming from her closet door. She grimaced, how _cliché:_ hiding in the closet. She knew better than to open the door herself, and simply waited for the perpetrator, calling out one again, "Come on! I can't go back to sleep if you're in here!"

She finally heard her closet door begin to creak open. She shifted her weight to the tips of her toes, still guarding herself from the person hiding. As the door opened further, the shadow cast itself longer, along with a visible long, large hand within sight, gripping the doorknob. She bit her lip; was the person trying to be suspenseful, or were they just not in a rush? Whatever was happening, it was ridiculous, and Sakura had somewhere to be:

Dreamland.

"Come on, speed it up," she said. "The longer this takes, the less sleep I get."

This time she did hear a chuckle, a low tenor vibrating off the walls of her room. It was sickeningly familiar, and easily made her stomach turn. It was a laugh she hadn't heard in a very long time. The voice then confirmed itself by saying, "Sakura."

She sighed. "Sasuke." She let her guard down, resting her kunai at the side of her body. She took a step towards him and pursed her lips. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

He didn't respond. He stepped out from the closet into the room, the moonlight casting a shadow across his skin, a deathly white. He was just as she remembered: tall, lanky, with long limbs and large fingers and feet. His hair was getting long, covering his eyes and tickling his neck; he needed a haircut, she thought. He was wearing nothing but a simple t-shirt and shorts; they stuck to his warm body like wet paper. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and seemed far from being on the offensive. He seemed calm, aloof, very _Sasuke_. "I was in the neighborhood," he claimed with a tiny smirk playing at his lips.

She shot him a glare that could've melted the polar-icecaps, but as far as he was concerned, he was far cooler than any ice. "So you broke into my house in the middle of the night?" she questioned.

"As far as I'm concerned, it's only eight o' clock." He slowly moseyed towards her, softly padding against the wood floors. "And it's not _breaking in_ if you left the window wide open for visitors." His steps were nearly silent, and she wasn't sure if it was because of his training, or if he was simply that dainty. It may have been the latter. "You've been avoiding me, Sakura."

She's scoffed. "And you only noticed now?"

He frowned. "I've noticed for a while." He was standing in front of her now, nearly a head-and-a-half taller. He was always so beautiful, she couldn't help but think, even if her childish crush had since left her. Everything about him was aristocratic and simple: a long nose, narrow eyes, thin-lips, and high cheek-bones, but nevertheless stunning. His skin was like marble, calloused and scarred from battles, but looked rich beyond that. "I called you," said Sasuke.

She sat back down on her bed, running her hands along the fabric. It was still cool, and she was sure if she kicked him out now and laid back down, she would fall right back asleep in a moment's notice. She pursed her lips. "I've been busy."

"Well, you're not busy now," he countered with a smirk.

Her glare deepened. "On the contrary, I'm trying to _sleep."_

"You don't sleep, anyway, so what's another hour without some?" he joked.

She sighed at his attempt at a joke, his attempt at a conversation, his attempt at coming to see her—finally—and couldn't help but think, _"He's trying." _She felt like she had been seeing him everywhere over the past few months; every time she showed up for Team 7 training, he was there, every time she seemed to be on clinic duty, he had a wound, every time she went out for ramen with her best friend, he tagged along.

Maybe he was really trying, after five-years of him being back in the village, he was finally trying. After three-years of her trying to be his friend, three-years of her accepting him back, three-years of her trying to build a relationship with him, three-years of her trying to assimilate him back into the village, trying to help him study for his exams, trying to help him show the village that he wasn't a criminal, that he was a good person, trying to create a _life_ for him, three-years of him taking advantage of her, and two-years of her ignoring him, he was _finally_ trying.

Did he really think a few phone calls, a couple of letters, a few tag-alongs, or some nighttime visit would change anything? She sighed. "Sasuke, what are you doing here?" she asked again.

"I told you, I tried to call you, and you didn't pick up." He sat next to her on the bed, crossing his ankles and threading his fingers. They were both looking forwards, out the window, towards the night. "You've been ignoring me."

"I've been ignoring you for a while, Sasuke," she corrected him. "So why now?"

He laughed awkwardly before saying, "better late than never?"

She shot him a look before rolling her eyes. "Try again."

"Because…" he thought for a moment. "Because I need you to save me from Naruto?"

She laughed. "Better, but not quite." She threw herself down onto her mattress, her legs hanging into the floor. It was inviting, almost _too_, inviting: the smell of cotton, the cool fabric, the idea of relieving her exhaustion…

"I don't know, Sakura," he finally answered. "Why have you been ignoring me?" he asked.

"That's a dumb question that we _both_ know the answer to," she mused.

"When's the last time you had off work?" he asked, suddenly. "When you weren't forced to?"

She sighed. "Sasuke, that's none of your business—"

"You're wearing yourself thin," he interrupted her. "You look exhausted, we wouldn't be _having _this problem if you had some time to yourself—"

"And since when do you care—you know what, forget it—Sasuke, it's late—"

"It's _not_," he cut her off, frowning. "It's only eight o' clock."

"Well, it's too late for you to be here," she decided. She sat up, finally making eye-contact with him. Her eyes were like broken-beer-bottles, shattered against the pavement, left like trash.

His expression cut her like a knife. "You really don't want me here?" he whispered.

"No, I don't," she told him. "You need to leave." She stood, walking towards the door, waving her hand to usher him out.

He began walking towards the door before stopping in his tracks. She went to say something, but he spoke first, "your friends miss you, Sakura."

"Ah, so I've heard," she replied.

He frowned. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"I know all my friends miss me, Sasuke," said Sakura. "You are not one of those friends, though."

He felt his heart ache in his chest, a hammer slamming into his ribcage as if it were a nail. "When did we stop being friends?" he questioned.

"We were _never_ friends, Sasuke," she whispered harshly. "You _never_ gave me the time of day, and we _both_ know it."

"Sakura, that's just not true—"

"Do you _know_ what you put me through?" she asked him, frowning, moving towards him. "After you came back, Sasuke?"

"Sakura, I'm sorry—"

"You're _sorry?"_ she yelled. "You're _sorry,_ Sasuke. That's great. Congratulations, you're sorry, but what are you sorry for?"

He bit his bottom lip, tearing at the skin, and said again, "Sakura, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, huh?" she asked. "Sorry you let me think that we were actually building a friendship when you came back? Sorry I helped you study for those stupid fucking tests so you could become a ninja again, and you never thanked me? Are you sorry that I put myself out on a limb with the entire village trying to defend your stupid honor, and you ever acknowledged it? Are you sorry that you drunkenly _fucked _me and then didn't speak to me for a month—"

_"Sakura,"_ he warned.

She smiled sadly. "Or are you sorry that I stopped speaking to you afterward? That I gave up after you took _advantage_ of me?"

"Sakura, I'm _sorry,"_ he croaked. "I'm sorry for _everything—"_

"Sorry doesn't cut it," she said. "Sorry will _never_ cut it. I thought—I thought," she felt the tears begin to well in her eyes, "I thought you wanted to _be _with me—hell, I thought you wanted to be _friends _with me," they started falling down her cheeks, staining them, causing her hair to stick to her face, "I thought you wanted a _relationship _with me, _something."_

"I _did,"_ he argued. He took a step towards her.

_"Don't _come near me, Sasuke," she threatened. "Don't you _dare_ come near me. I don't want _anything_ to do with you. I _trusted_ you."

"I'm sorry, Sakura, I'm _sorry,"_ he repeated. He took another step closer despite her. "I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry I didn't thank you, I'm sorry I didn't realize what you were doing, I'm sorry I—I took _advantage_ of you," he felt disgusted with himself, and he'd never cry, but he could feel the bile bubbling in his throat like tears. "I'm sorry I put you _through_ that."

"It's late," she repeated. She tasted the salt of her tears in her mouth. "You're _late_, Sasuke."

"No, Sakura, it's still early," he reminded her. "I'll do anything. I need you to forgive me, Sakura, everyone misses you, we all miss you—"

"I know, Sasuke, but—"

_"I_ miss you, Sakura," he finally admitted. "I miss you."

She barely stopped in her tracks. "Sasuke, I don't know what to tell you. I can't keep doing this anymore."

"You won't have to," he chided her. "You'll never have to. Sakura, I need to you in my life. I—I'm sorry for what I did. I was just some stupid teenage boy."

She frowned. "And now you're some stupid adult man."

He chuckled. "That may be true, but I'm trying to own up for what I did."

"And what if it's really too late, Sasuke?" she asked. "I'm exhausted," she admitted, but not because she hadn't slept.

"Then I won't give up," he confirmed. "It's not too late. It's only eight o'clock."

She sighed and looked over him; despite her training, she couldn't find a lying bone in his body. Maybe he was really being honest, but either way, she wasn't jumping to forgive him. "Just because you show up to my house in the middle of the night doesn't mean that I'm just going to accept you back into my life."

"I know," he explained, but the smirk was growing on his face.

"And just because you keep calling me, or send me some stupid letters, or show up for lunch once in a blue moon doesn't mean I'm going to forgive you, either," she said.

His smirk grew. "I know."

"I'm not just going to forgive you, and sorry won't fix what you did," she said softly. "But proving to me that you've grown, will."

His smirk fell to a small, earnest smile. "I can work with that."

"You have no other choice," she reminded him. "Well, I mean, you do, but not if you're as desperate as you say to get back in my life."

He frowned. "I'm not _desperate—"_

"I'd stop talking right about now," she reprimanded him with a small smirk of her own. She sauntered off to her bed and fell back onto her mattress. "Now get the fuck out of my house, Uchiha."

He chuckled one last time and she heard his soft steps as the drifted towards the door. "Yeah, maybe you should get to bed, it's starting to get late," he mocked.

But she was already fast asleep.

* * *

fin


End file.
